Mawwige
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: Sherlock and John have been flat-mates for almost 10 years. Several years ago, Sherlock returned from the dead, and they've since become a couple (of sorts). Now they're making it official. (SherlockxJohn) Lighter and fluffier than my previous stories. I tried hard to keep them in character and there is a strick no schmoopiness policy in effect. Enjoy :D
1. Chapter 1

_**Author note: I can't really picture these two being lovey-dovey or schmoopy, but they work as a couple to me anyways. Also, yes, Sherlock has a pet name. I'm sure John would insist on one, and that's the only one that seems to fit. John doesn't get one, he's just 'John'. But it's said with love :D**_

* * *

Mycroft Holmes sat like a statue on the sofa of 221B Baker Street staring at the pair of them incredulously. Hell had finally frozen over.

"Oh do close your mouth Mycroft. You look absurd." Sherlock stood with his back to his brother, calmly toying with his violin and occasionally making notations on a few pages of sheet music.

"John, you realize it isn't too late to come to your senses? You could be considered for sainthood simply for living with my brother, much less… this."

Sherlock screeched out an irritating note on his violin, earning a glare from his brother and John. He pretended not to notice.

"Look, we're not asking for your permission-" John started, trying to be the sensible one of the two of them.

"Thank god."

"Sherlock! Not helping."

The screeching resumed. John snatched the bow out of his hands without looking up.

"You'll forgive me if I never expected my brother to have a relationship at all, much less a marriage."

"Yes, well, life is full of surprises." John held the bow further out of Sherlock's reach. "I wasn't expecting it either, but here we are."

"John, is that any way to treat your partner's things?" He wheedled.

"Shut up, Sherlock, you're behaving like a child." John glared at him, clearly not amused.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, shooting the doctor a meaningful look, which Sherlock fully noticed. He moved to stand behind John's chair in a huff, still keeping his back to his brother. John set the violin bow aside.

"Look, the fact is, we're making this official. I'd like you to be a part of it." Mycroft noted he didn't say 'we'. "You can choose to attend or not, but it's happening either way."

"Not, is preferable."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Certainly. I'd be _delighted_ to attend. Let me know if I can assist with any arrangements." Mycroft's tone was clearly intended to gall his brother. It seemed to be working.

"Be sure to leave some cake for the guests, Mycroft."

"Sherlock-"

John turned to glare at him as the door to their flat opened and closed behind the elder Holmes brother.

"Was it really necessary to involve Mycroft of all people?"

"Remind me who kept you hidden while you were 'dead' a few years back?"

"… Alright, fair point."

"And this, love, is why I'm handling the invitations." John patted Sherlock's curly hair as he stood up, handing back the violin bow.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author note: This one will also be somewhat lighter and fluffier. You're welcome :)**_

* * *

"You?"

"Yes."

"You and Sherlock?"

"Yes."

"… Donovan owes me 20 quid."

John couldn't help himself - he laughed out loud at the image. He could hear Detective Inspector Lestrade chuckling into the phone. Sergeant Donovan had long been one of Sherlock's most vocal critics and she'd tried repeatedly to warn John away from associating with him.

"You've got to let me be there when you collect. I want to see the look on her face."

"Come down to the Yard this afternoon. I'll wait for you."

"Should I bring Sherlock, or is that too cruel?"

"It _is_ cruel, but it's also hilarious."

"So that's a yes?"

"Absolutely."


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was sprawled out across the couch in his pajamas when he came downstairs. Bare feet poked up over the arm-rest.

He seemed to be asleep, but on leaning closer, John could hear muttering and fragments of thought coming out in a steady stream. He wondered vaguely if Sherlock had been there all night. He certainly hadn't come to John's room to sleep.

"Alright, you've been there hours already. Get up and eat something."

"I'm busy, you eat."

He prepared a plate of toast and set it next to Sherlock's hand without a word. The toast was gone when he returned a few minutes later to collect the plate. He chose to believe it was being digested and not stuffed under the sofa cushion again.

"I talked to Greg earlier. He says to come down to the Yard this afternoon and you can watch Donovan eat crow. Owes him 20 quid, apparently."

Sherlock's head perked up briefly and he grinned. "What time are we going?"

"How soon can you wrap up that case?"

"2pm at the latest."

"2 it is then."

* * *

"Now, when I call her in, you two need to hold hands and make a big show of it. I'm going to record her on my phone. It'll be brilliant."

"You are an evil, evil man, Gregory Lestrade." John grinned approvingly. Sherlock put an arm around him with exaggerated affection and they posed. Lestrade almost fell out of his chair laughing.

* * *

"You wanted to see… me…" Donovan stopped cold in the doorway, jaw hanging open in a mixture of shock and horror. John noticed Lestrade zooming in to capture her expression and almost fell off of his chair too. Sherlock had to hold him upright.

"Afternoon, Sally." Sherlock said calmly. He was enjoying himself thoroughly.

"Wha- you- he-…What is-"

"The boys are making it official. Wanted to share the happy news. Ah… love." Lestrade was trying to retain a shred of professionalism. It didn't work.

"I can't even believe- Why would any- HERE." She dug the money out of her wallet and slammed it onto Lestrade's desk then stormed out of the office.

"Ah… she's gonna be hell to work with for a few days, but it was worth it." He pocketed the cash, still laughing.

"I thought her head was going to explode." John glanced out the office window and collapsed against Sherlock's shoulder, laughing. "Oh god, she's gone and told Anderson. Look, quick, before you miss it!"


	4. Chapter 4

John was almost asleep when something poked him in the back. He chose to ignore it. Sherlock was all knees and elbows, especially in close quarters, so it wasn't unusual. A skinny arm coiled around his chest and he felt Sherlock's chin resting on the top of his head.

"Sleeping? Is it Thursday already?"

"Do shut up, John."

"Mmm..."

He rolled into Sherlock's chest, coiling his knees up to fill the space left by the detective's longer legs.

Their relationship had become something all its own over the time they'd known each other, which was slowly closing in on a decade. It wasn't sexual, really, though they occasionally made blatant passes at each other for the benefit of people they wanted to shock. It was simply comfortable. They slept side-by-side most nights, when Sherlock slept at all. John took care of Sherlock whenever he got himself hurt or passed out from forgetting (or refusing) to eat for days on end. Sherlock continued to be himself, which was enough for John. The occasional embrace or the very occasional kiss was the furthest their physical relationship generally went, but it was more than enough. Somehow, anything else seemed unnecessary.

"Solved it then?"

"Yes. But I was coming up in an hour either way."

"Missed me?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He paused. "But yes."

"Love you too."

"Goodnight John."

He closed his eyes, breathing in the smell of Sherlock Holmes and listening to the silence. It was comforting, in its own strange way, that the man still smelled of embalming chemicals, wool, old books, and just faintly of lavender soap, even after all this time. It was one thing about the ever-changing detective that was always the same. And it always made him smile.


	5. Chapter 5

"You're kidding!"

"Never been more serious."

"Why does every man I fancy turn out to be gay?" Molly meant it as a joke, but she still seemed a little depressed at the thought.

"Well, to be fair, you've known about our- about us for a year at least. And I don't know if Sherlock's actually gay… I'm not sure even _he_ knows what he is."

They sat in the St. Bart's Hospital café, drinking tea. Sherlock was downstairs in the mortuary, poking at a body that had just come in. He apparently had some sort of bizarre experiment he wanted to run on it.

"Also, I'm not sure if Moriarty was gay… he was… uh… well mostly just creepy."

"Right…" Molly paused uncomfortably.

"Also, for the record, still not gay. … Or at least, not very."

"You're marrying a man."

"Yes… well… Sherlock's a special case."

"Truer words were never spoken." She grinned and John found himself grinning back. "So..." She brightened up again, "How did you propose to him? I've got to hear this."

"Actually, I didn't… Sherlock asked me."

"You're joking…"

"No, he actually did. Took me about 10 minutes to pick my jaw up off the floor."

"Did he… y'know, the one-knee and all that?"

John just looked at her. "Molly…It's _Sherlock_."

Molly thought about it a moment then shrugged. "That is an odd picture, isn't it?"

"Very."

"He texted you, didn't he?"

"I would've half-way expected that, actually, but no." He laughed, thinking about it. "I was just getting home from visiting Harry and the minute I walk in the door, I hear 'We should be married.' I almost fell back down the stairs."

"Not very romantic."

"Again, this _is_ Sherlock Holmes we're talking about. That's about as romantic as it gets with him."

"Doesn't surprise me, I suppose… D'you have a date picked yet?"

"No, but I doubt it'll be much of an affair anyway. Probably just sign some papers and call it a night."

"John Watson, you can't be serious! It's a wedding!"

"Can _you_ imagine trying to plan an event, any event at all, with Sherlock?"

Visions of centerpieces made of jarred eyeballs and severed limbs crossed her mind.

"… I could help you plan it."

John considered. It would be nice to actually make a party of it. Sherlock wouldn't necessarily have to do anything but show up…

"I'll talk to him about it."


	6. Chapter 6

John was just settling in to write a blog entry about their latest case when Sherlock clattered back up the stairs into the flat. A box was tucked under one arm and he was muttering furiously to himself. He'd stayed behind several hours at the hospital after John grew tired of waiting for him and went home alone. He had apparently been busy.  
The box was deposited on the kitchen counter-top and the detective began rummaging in drawers, apparently hunting for tools.

"Do I even want to know what you've got in there?" John closed his laptop again, warily watching his partner scurry around the kitchen. He hoped whatever this was, it wasn't going to leak congealed saliva all over the fridge again. That had taken hours of scrubbing and quite a bit of bleach to clear up.  
"Liver. Two toes. … and a few hair samples." Sherlock came up with a pair of tongs and seemed to be considering them.  
"Oh no! NO! Those are for food, put them back!  
"I'll sterilize them after."  
"I said no, Sherlock. That's a new pair and I'm not buying another!"  
"Really, the chances of cross contamination-"  
"SHERLOCK."  
There was a moment of irritated silence but the tongs returned to their drawer. He returned to rummaging.  
"That's a butter-knife. Are you really going to use that-"  
"We've got three others." Sherlock was doing his best to sound winning. Sooner or later, he knew he'd get his way.  
John sighed. He couldn't win everything.  
"Fine. Just don't put it back in there when you're done. I don't particularly want to eat... whatever you're doing... on my breakfast. "  
"I said I'd sterilize it."  
"Comforting."  
The laptop clicked open again and he turned his attention to it and his notes, tuning out the clanking and occasional slopping sounds coming from the kitchen. He made a mental note to sanitize absolutely everything in that room tomorrow.

* * *

"_'A Platypus in November'_?" Sherlock had apparently finished what he was doing and begun reading over his shoulder. "Really, _that's_ what you're calling it?"  
"It involves a platypus and it happened in November. So yes."  
"It involves a criminal with a poor understanding of zoology attempting to commit murder."  
"Yeah, somehow that's not as catchy of a title."  
"I don't see why not."  
"Yes, I'm sure you don't. Are you done with- … that?" He gestured vaguely towards the kitchen, clicking the "Submit" button on the post. He rather liked his title.  
There was a huge slimy mess jumbled across the kitchen counter, but surprisingly little on the floor. He wasn't sure if Sherlock had attempted to clean up after himself, or (more likely) simply hadn't fully gotten started yet.  
"For now, yes."  
"... There's no chance I'm going to be able to use the kitchen anytime in the next 24 hours, is there?"  
"No. Or...At least, I wouldn't advise it."  
"Right... So Angelos then?"


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock picked at the pasta dish in front of him with obvious annoyance. He'd refused to order anything, but as usual, John had simply ordered for him. It was one of his favorites, when he could be prevailed upon to eat, and he was annoyed that this fact was being used against him. John was eyeing him, so he pointedly took a bite of food. His face wore a very clear 'look, I'm behaving, are you happy now?' expression.  
A candle was brought to the table with a knowing wink from the proprietor. He patted John on the back, and gave them both a less-than-subtle thumbs-up. Sherlock was still smugly pleased, even 2 years after he first noticed it, that John had stopped protesting when Angelo referred to him as Sherlock's 'date'. It was simply a fact of life now. He doubted that thought would ever stop being enjoyable.  
"So, Molly offered to help with planning, when I talked to her. I'm thinking of taking her up on it."  
"Planning?" Sherlock asked, distractedly, pushing his meal around his plate.  
"Wedding."  
"Ah."  
"So, what do you think?"  
"Why do we need her help? I already have all the needed forms, and you've already notified everyone of importance - _and unimportance_- of the event. What more needs to be planned?"  
"Well, it _is_ a wedding. She thought, and I rather agree, that maybe we ought to make more of an event of it. Have a party. This is a rather big deal, isn't it?"  
"It's a legal arrangement. It changes nothing else."  
"Yes thanks, that's very complimentary."  
"You know perfectly well what I mean. Don't try the sad dog face."  
"It's a sad _puppy_ face, thanks, and I'll use it all I damn well please, because it works."  
"It certainly does not."  
"Oh yes it does."  
"It does no- stop that!"  
Sherlock threw a napkin at him, which he caught out of the air, breaking from the sad pleading face to a wide grin.  
"And I believe I've proved my point."  
"Sod off."  
"Oh dear, now _you're_ turning into _me_."  
"One can only hope not."  
John ate for a few more moments, apparently thinking.  
"Would you mind?"  
"Mind what?"  
"Molly helping."  
"It isn't necessary."  
"That's not what I asked you."  
"... You want to do this?"  
"Yes."  
"Then no. I don't mind. Just... don't let the woman decorate. You've seen her sweaters."  
"Sherlock!"  
"No hearts. No pink. That's all I ask."


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock went straight back to work as soon as they got home, picking apart samples from the tread of one of the toes and subjecting it to all sorts of chemical tests to see what happened. He was still busily making notes in a small leather journal about one of the tests at 1 in the morning, when John decided he'd had enough of sitting around, waiting for the man to finish up.  
"Sherlock, how vital is that experiment?"  
"They're all vital."  
"To your new case."  
"Not very. Why?"  
John's hand snaked under his chin, finding the sensitive spot right in the corner of his jaw. Sherlock abruptly forgot what he'd been working on.  
"That... is not... fair..."  
"Oh? What about this?" He leaned down and kissed the spot, then withdrew his hand and stood back, waiting.  
Sherlock considered for a few seconds,then closed the notebook and stood up.  
"You are an evil, evil man, do you know that?"  
"You're the one who told me it was there."  
"Yes, but you're not meant to use it against me."  
"Mm... And yet I have. What do you plan to do about it?"  
Sherlock chose to shut up him with a kiss. They were both pleased with the decision.

* * *

"You're a bloody distraction, do you know that?" Sherlock grumbled half-heartedly, thin hand resting on John's back. The doctor's head was comfortably nested on his chest. They'd spent a very enjoyable hour doing things that would shock the neighbors, before falling into bed, still only half-dressed.  
"It's good for you." The doctor grinned up at him "I regret nothing."  
"Never should've told you about that spot..." Sherlock muttered, pushing messy curls out of his eyes.  
"Do you regret telling me about this one?"  
Sherlock Holmes' mind, for the second time that night, went completely blank, in the most pleasant way possible.  
"Dammit John!"  
He was quite certain he wasn't about to get any more work done tonight.

* * *

_**Author's note: Before any of you take the time to flog me for this: I **__**did**__** say it wasn't sexual -generally-. That's not to say they never have adult time at all. Just not often.**_


	9. Chapter 9

John was the first one awake, for once. He considered checking the clock, but instead stayed still and decided to make a late morning of it, savoring the chance to study a sleeping Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock was a light sleeper, so he'd be awake in an instant if the bed shifted or he felt John stirring. He wanted to let the man sleep.  
Sherlock was normally a blur of energy and motion, scampering up fire-escapes, leaping over rooftops. He was only still when he was thinking, and even then, there was a pent-up energy - a heavy concentration that permeated him. In sleep, he was simply serene and peaceful. It was fascinating to see the change.  
John closed his eyes, feeling warm and comfortable, and listened to the steady heartbeat and soft breath that echoed through the chest beneath his head. After spending a full year believing Sherlock was dead, he'd found he could never get tired of these sounds. They reminded him of what he'd almost lost, and through some incredible luck, regained.

He was still lying there half an hour later, when he felt the faint tension beginning to build in the body beneath him that indicated Sherlock's mind was revving back to full-throttle. A few moments later, sharp grey eyes were open, regarding him with complete, alert clarity. Sherlock didn't take long to wake.  
"You're up early." Sherlock's voice cut off into a faint yawn. Alright, perhaps not complete clarity just yet...  
"You're up late."  
Neither man moved.  
"Are you going to let me get some work done today, or do you intend to hold me captive?" The words were intended to be sarcastic, but they came out playful instead.  
John rolled away, letting the taller man beside him sit up, and stretched against the mattress.  
"Work. Tempting as the other option sounds." He itched at the scar on his shoulder reflexively. "I've got planning to do and I promised I'd fill in for a sick nurse at the clinic this afternoon."  
"No pink. No hearts."  
"Yes, thank you, already noted."

He watched appreciatively as Sherlock climbed out of bed, loose pajama pants hanging off of his thin hips. The man's pale slender back was bare, marked here and there by the various scars and abuses his dangerous lifestyle had attracted. John remembered the story behind just about every last one of them. He'd been there for -and treated- well over half the injuries and he'd been told the history of the rest at some point or another.

Sherlock stopped to pick up a towel from the floor and glanced back at the bed. He normally didn't like to be watched, but somehow it was pleasant when John did it. He held up the towel. "Joining me?"  
"I thought you wanted to get work done."


	10. Chapter 10

_Help me -SH_

_?! - JW_

_Mrs. Hudson's cornered me and she won't let me alone. -SH_

_… Mrs. Hudson has cornered you? -JW_

_She saw some bridal show on the telly and now I can't get a moment's peace -SH  
_

_Tell her I'm planning everything. -JW  
_

_I DID -SH  
_

_Sorry, love, I can't leave work. Best of luck :* -JW  
_

_… I thought you loved me -SH  
_

_You'll live -JW  
_

_Heartless -SH  
_

_Love you too -JW_


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock sat stiffly on the sofa, half buried in bridal magazines, when John came in the door. Mrs. Hudson was cheerfully showing him pages and remarking how lovely he'd look in this cut or that one. He cast a withering glare at John, _where the hell have you been?!_ written all over his face.

"Ah, John, dear!" Mrs. Hudson dropped the magazine she was holding and snatched up another that was clearly bookmarked in several places, hurrying towards him. He noticed Sherlock immediately waded out from under the stack and retreated to his room the moment her back was turned. _Coward._

John spent several hours sifting through the magazines, mainly to please Mrs. Hudson, though he did have to admit some of the ideas were good ones. She left the whole pile in their living room when she finally left, insisting that they hold onto them as 'reference material'. John left them where they were, as it'd take three times their one small trash-bin to hold them all.

He knocked on Sherlock's door.  
"You can come out now."  
"She'll be back."  
"Very possibly, but not tonight. She's having supper with a friend."  
"Mr. Thomas Hartford from the floral shop on Suffolk - do hope she knows about his three children in Glasgow."  
"How- ... never mind." He yawned. "Tea?"  
"Please."  
"You have to come out here to get it."  
"You're not going to force me to look at any more of those blasted magazines are you?"  
"Well, not tonight, probably."  
"You are a horrid man."  
"I'm joking. Stop pouting and come out here. I haven't seen you all day."  
"I do not pout."  
"Yes you do."  
"I do not."  
John gave up. "Fine, suit yourself. I'm making tea. Come out here if you want some."

_5... 4... 3... 2..._ The door opened as if on cue, and he heard Sherlock's bare feet padding down the hallway. _How terrifying is it that I can call Sherlock Holmes, of all people predictable?_

"Two sugars?"  
"Please."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Sorry to keep you waiting folks: real life called. Enjoy :)**_

* * *

Sherlock was busy over his microscope before John even started to stir in the morning, and he only barely acknowledged it when the other man entered the kitchen and shuffled sleepily over to the kettle. He glanced up when John set a cup of tea in the tiny clear-space next to him before returning his full brain-power to dissecting the liver he'd been storing in the fridge.

"You promised me you weren't going to keep that thing in the crisper drawer." John muttered, eyeing the telltale puddle where the container had leaked, but he knew Sherlock wasn't listening. _Bleach and scrubbing for the whole room, definitely…._

"Lock the door when you go, would you?" A disinterested voice emerged from behind the microscope.

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Mrs. Hudson."

"Right. Fine. But I expect you to at least clean up after yourself when you're done this time."

No answer. He'd long ago grown used to Sherlock's selective hearing. He considered leaving the door ajar as punishment, but he just wasn't that cruel. He made a mental note to ask Lestrade for that video of a drugged and babbling detective he'd made during the Irene Addler incident. Threatening to post it would be an excellent motivator for Sherlock to at least tidy up a bit. _Alright, maybe I am a little cruel…._

"I'm off to work; don't blow the place up again while I'm gone."

"I never-"

"Yes you have. Twice. Fortunately the ceiling was repairable. Behave."

"Behaving." Sherlock gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up.

"I meant not like an ass."

"You are hilarious, John, really."

"If I have to clear up singe-marks AND blood mess-"

"I will behave." Sherlock waved him off without looking up. It was as close as he came to a "yes dear", which was as close as he ever came to accepting John's household rules.

"Thank you. I may not be home for dinner, but you should still have something to eat. I think there's some of that pasta left over." He shrugged into his jacket, fastening his hospital ID onto his shirt-collar.

"Won't be hungry."

"Eat it."

Sherlock snorted and ignored him. John sighed, giving up. It was no use getting into this now. He was already 5 minutes late and he didn't want to make it worse.

He quietly set a box of animal crackers on the coffee table as he passed, full-knowing Sherlock would get into it before the end of the day, and left. One thing he'd learned over time was that Sherlock would almost always turn down a regular meal, but sugary snack-foods were rarely passed over. It wasn't exactly health-food, but it was better than nothing.


	13. Chapter 13

"Dr. Watson, there's someone here to see you."

He groaned. He'd only been at work a few hours, how could Sherlock possibly have set something on fire already? "Is he tall and skinny, dark hair?"

"No, actually. It's a lady."

"A lady? Like a patient?"

"She said she was a detective."

John groaned louder. _Donovan_. What the hell did she want, bothering him at work? He thought about making an excuse to avoid her, but there'd be no chance of that at the next crime-scene and he didn't particularly want to deal with… whatever this was about then. He needed to pay attention and take notes when he was working with Sherlock.

The truth was, he had no patients for the next two hours and nothing in particular that needed doing. She had irritatingly good timing.

"Should I tell her you're busy, Doctor?" The young nurse looked uncertain, toying with a loose thread on her scrubs.

"No…" He sighed. "Send her back, would you?" He couldn't think of a single good reason for Sgt. Sally Donovan to be visiting him at work, so he prepared himself to be irritated.

The way she stalked stiffly in behind the nurse and the thin line she'd pressed her mouth into indicated this was not going to be a pleasant visit. The door closed, leaving him unfortunately alone with her.

"John." She nodded curtly towards him as greeting.

"Oh, we're on first names now, are we?"

"Don't start that, I'm trying to be on your side here."

"Well that would be a first."

She glared at him and he smiled placidly back. _God he hated her…_

"You're not _seriously_ marrying the freak, are you?" John glared sharply at her when she used her familiar nickname for Sherlock, but she ignored him. "What's he got on you?"

"_Got_ on me?" He shot up an eyebrow. _Seriously, she thought Sherlock was somehow blackmailing him into pretending to be in a relationship for __**10 **__bloody years?_

"Look, I don't know why you stick around him, but he's dangerous. I've tried to tell you a hundred times. You don't know what you're doin-"

She jumped involuntarily as he stood up, slamming his hands down on the desk hard enough to knock over his name-plate. They stared at each other in tense silence.

"Actually, _Sally_" If she could use first names, so could he, "I know _EXACTLY_ what I'm doing. You think I could possibly stay with Sherlock for 10 bloody years and not know what I was getting into?!"

"He doesn't love you, John. He doesn't love anybody. It's not something he can do."

He couldn't help himself, a tiny chuckle escaped him. She favored him with a slightly horrified frown.

"You are so clueless, it's almost funny." He shook his head, wondering that she could possibly be this willfully ignorant.

"You'll believe whatever he tells you because you _want_ to. What about that time he pretended to commit suicide, just to get away from it all, maybe go on a nice holiday? You were unhinged, but then there he was just strollin' back in like he owned the place a year later, not a care in the world."

"Oh, you mean the time he almost died trying to keep someone from shooting me, my landlady and your boss in the head?" He let the slightly rusty pissed-off-officer tone creep into his voice. It felt good to let it out now and again.

"That's what he _tells_ you. He lies all the time-."

"And how the _hell_ would you know?"

"John- **_Doctor Watson_**, "she corrected herself a little more forcefully than necessary, "I know you think I hate him because he makes us look bad. And maybe that's part of it, but he is _dangerous_. How many people died because he was playing stupid little games with his crazy murderer boyfriend?"

"Oh, you mean besides the ones he rescued? Also, seriously, stop calling Moriarty that, it's creepy."

"He hurts people for kicks, John. He'll do it to you, just like he does to everyone else."

"So, what _did_ he do, Sally? Turn you down for a date too many times? Tell you your hair didn't look pretty once too often?"

She glared at him. He knew he'd hit close to home.

"He's a psychopa-"

"**He's a bloody ****_socio_****path for the ****_thousandth_**** time!**" He exploded, roaring over her, as he finally lost his temper. "And not that it's any of your god-damned business, but I happen to _love_ him. I'm marrying him, and I have _nothing_ further to say to you about it, SO MIND YOUR OWN BLOODY BUSINESS and I swear to GOD if you do not get out of my office and stop wasting my time being a jealous, venomous twit, I WILL have you hauled out of here! **_By force_** if need be!" Another tense silence followed as John's chest heaved beneath his lab coat, fury filling him to the brim. If he hadn't been distracted trying to make her burst into flames with his glare alone, he might've realized his back was ramrod straight and he'd set his shoulders into a razor-sharp line. He'd slipped completely into officer-mode.

Donovan quailed at the unexpected 'angry solider' side of John, looking mildly terrified. He didn't suppose he'd really had occasion to show it to her before. He glared across the desk at her and she practically felt the rage flowing off of him. "Security is just down the hall. You want me to have them escort you out?" The roar had quieted to a dangerous, tightly controlled whisper.

"No, _Doctor_. I can see myself out." She turned on her heel and marched to the door, wrenching it open. She turned back just before she stepped through. "But don't blame me when he breaks you."

"**_Out_****.**"


	14. Chapter 14

"Oof, you look rough…" Molly stood in the doorway when he looked up from where he'd been mashing his keyboard into submission, sorting digital images of x-rays. She cast a sympathetic eye over his face. "Hard day?"

"You've no idea."

"Should I leave you to it, then? I mean, you asked me to come by at 6… but, we could always do this later… If, y'know, you're too tired..."

"No, no please, come on in. Sorry if I'm a bit dismal at the moment. Sit down. I'm nearly done and I could do with a distraction about now."

She sat quietly beside the desk for a few moments before she couldn't help herself and quickly righted his name-plate, which was still lying front-down on the desk. He gave her a brief, tired smile of thanks and quickly finished what he was working on. His shift was technically over, but mindless sorting was helpful in calming him down enough to think straight.

"Sherlock got you out of sorts?" He wasn't sure if she was actually asking or just making conversation.

"No, he's actually been oddly quiet on the texting today. Just asked me to pick him up more crackers on the way home. He's being surprisingly not-alarming."

"Oh, I didn't mean to assume-"

He waved the apology aside. "With Sherlock, it's usually a safe assumption. Actually one of his least favorite people has just paid me a call."

Molly looked alarmed. "I thought his least favorite person was… _dead_…"

He realized what he'd said.

"Oh! No! No, not that person! God no! Actually in comparison, Donovan's an angel of mercy."

"Donovan?"

"You probably don't remember her. Police Sergeant that follows Greg Lestrade around all the time. I think you've met her once…"

"OH! Yes, the one who doesn't get on with Sherlock?"

"Well that's half of Scotland Yard, but yeah. She makes a career of it."

"Sour looking, never smiles?"

"That's her."

"Hm… I can see not getting on with him, even though I've always quite liked him… But she did seem a bit more put off than most. I remember that better than I remember her face."

"Yeah, I think she hit on him and he shut her down like he does. Probably didn't sit too well."

"Yeah, he's not exactly gentlemanly about these things…." Molly shrugged. "Still, she ought to just let it go. He never takes up with _any_body." She glanced at him and smiled "present company excluded."

John shrugged, though a grin was trying valiantly to push through the frustrated gloom on his face. "Not certain that's it, but she certainly looked pissed when I said it."

"Well then she's a sour, tarty, wretched woman, and she deserves all the unhappiness she's bringing herself." Molly stamped her foot as emphasis.

"That's the meanest thing I think I've ever heard you say about another person, Molly Hooper." The grin finally won out.

She flushed slightly.

"I mean it!"

"I don't doubt it. And hearing you say it instead of me puts me in a much better mood. Cheers." He grinned at her once more as he slipped a notebook out of his desk and flicked through pages until he found a blank one. He wrote _Wedding Plan Notes_ at the top in neat little letters and they got to work.


	15. Chapter 15

John was pleasantly surprised to find the kitchen tidied, if not particularly clean, when he got home. The table was free of body parts and had at least been wiped with a wet rag, though it was still filmed-over with an unmentionable assortment of disgusting things. The puddle in the crisper-drawer was still there, but all in all, it looked like there'd been quite a bit more effort than Sherlock normally put into cleaning. He was sure it _had_ been Sherlock - it was much too sloppy to have been Mrs. Hudson's doing.

_Where __**was **__Sherlock anyways?_

Now that he thought about it, this in combination with the sparse texting throughout the day was slightly worrying. Either Sherlock had done something he knew he shouldn't and this was his way of attempting to butter John up before telling him… or he was about to ask for one of those 'casual' favors he often needed; wherein, more often than not, one of them ended up getting arrested.

"What've you done while I was out?" He flicked on the living room light.

No answer. He glanced into Sherlock's room, but found no detective sprawled out across the bed or staring vacantly out the window. No Sherlock on the sofa either.

After a brief moment of panic, he spotted two bare feet poking out from _under_ the sofa. _What in the-_

"What the hell are you doing?"

A slightly disappointed hiss answered him. _Had he seriously been trying to hide under the couch?_

"… You're not going to like it." _Option 1, then…_

"What did you do?"

"There may have been a mild chemical reaction while I was working…"

"_May_ have been?"

"Alright, there _was_ a reaction." A slightly huffy voice admitted. He was making no move to come out from under the couch.

John sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. _Of course. Because of course_. "Did you burn yourself again?" He was considering dragging the man out by his ankles.

"… Yes."

Another sigh. "How badly?"

An arm poked out in answer, mild chemical burns peppered across it where he'd been splashed. Nothing particularly serious, but it probably hurt like hell. It seemed to extend a little below the rolled back shirt sleeve, but he doubted it went much further than that.

"Get out from under there and wash your arm. I'll get the first aid kit."

"John… I did try to-"

"Out and wash up, Sherlock. You can explain it to me after we've got you patched up."

* * *

Sherlock had the decency to look slightly guilty as he held out his arm to be treated. He watched John work in silence, wincing slightly at every touch.

"You're damned lucky I love you, you know that?" John glanced up at him. No reply. He shook his head. "By the way, Donovan says hello."

That at least got him a moment of startled eye contact.

"_Donovan?!_" He watched the gears turning as Sherlock tried to determine when, and more importantly _why_ he'd have been talking to Sgt. Donovan…

"Yes, apparently she's taken it upon herself to save me from you… or something."

He watched with faint amusement as Sherlock mentally tallied this information into his own mishap. A sharp frown followed.

"I have terrible timing, don't I?"

"You do."

Sherlock watched him wrap the last of the long cotton bandage around the burned arm.

"I'm sorry." He flexed his fingers experimentally. "If it helps, I wasn't expecting the reaction to be so violent. There was apparently a large sodium build-up in the-"

"No." John held up a hand to stop him. He was in no mood for any more madness tonight. "Just… Look, I'm too tired for this. I've had a long day and I'm glad you're more or less ok. It was an accident, let's leave it at that. C'mon, up you go." He hauled the taller man to his feet. "You are going to bed, and so am I. I'll have another look at that in the morning."

"John… wait."

"What?"

He just wanted the day to be over, and he really didn't want to cap it off with an argument.

Sherlock pulled him closer, hunching down slightly. He kissed the doctor's forehead, then leaned into him for an awkward one-armed hug.

"I _am_ very lucky that you love me, John." Sherlock's voice was soft and warm in his ear. "Don't think for a moment that I've forgotten that." He paused, voice dropping even lower until it was barely audible at all - A faint hum of sound that vibrated right through John's skull with a pleasant tingle. "I'm not sure you can be called 'lucky' that _I _love _you_…. But I do all the same, for the little it's worth."

John grumbled, giving in. "You're not allowed to be adorable when I'm being upset at you. It's not fair." He let his head rest on Sherlock's thin chest, letting go of his annoyance with a faint sigh.

"I'll bear that in mind."

"I can _hear_ you smirking."

"You can not."

"Can too."

"You certainly cannot."

"You're doing it again."

Sherlock buried his face in John's short-cropped hair instead of answering.

"Goddammit, I _told_ you to stop being adorable."


	16. Chapter 16

"Harry, hi. …-Yeah, of course I'm serious…. _No_, I'm just pranking you, how'd you guess? … Yes, you're bloody hilarious, really. You're welcome to just not come- Yeah, that's what I thought." John ignored the smirk on his flat-mate's face, closing the door of his room to get some semblance of privacy. Apparently bored, he heard Sherlock clatter back down the stairs and flop down across the sofa, which creaked in protest.

"Yes, yes, you called it, congratulations for you. How're things with you and Clara- Oh, you're separated again? Sorry… I didn't- No, I hadn't heard. No… Harry how would I have known that - you never call me!" He flopped back across the bed, irritated at her already. "Look, I don't want to fight with you… I didn't mean to yell at you, ok?"

He mentally ruled out having anything remotely alcoholic at the reception. That would be a disaster in the making...

"Thanks, that actually means a lot to me. Do you think you can make it? Great- Yeah, of course you can bring Gloria if you want. …What- well, no, I didn't send her an invitation yet, I assumed she'd be at your place… Harry, I get on with Clara, I'd really like her to be there too. … What if I just make sure you two don't sit near each other-? I know, it's kind of awkward, but- …Thank you. I appreciate the effort. Right, I'll put you on the list plus one. …Yeah, good talking to you too, have fun. … Right, talk to you later. Bye Harry."

He dropped the phone beside his head, but made no move to get up. Dealing with Harry was exhausting; he was beginning to remember why they rarely talked to each other…

* * *

Sherlock waited until he was sure John was occupied on the phone before returning to the living room sofa to read the text he'd just received. If he was correct, and he nearly always was, John would argue with his sister for at least 10 minutes and then lie around wishing he hadn't for another 15 before coming downstairs to complain about her and have a cup of tea. Plenty of time.

He glanced at the sender and smirked. Well, she _had_ taken her time. Irene was getting slow.

_I hear rumors, Mr. Holmes. Let's have dinner. –IA_

_Oh, do you? Also: that approach has never worked before, Ms. Addler. I don't know why you think it will work now. –SH_

_Worth a try, dear. Worth a try.-IA_

_So you and your pet are settling down? –IA_

_Refer to him as my "pet" again and I may forget to refrain from mentioning your new whereabouts to my dear brother. –SH_

_Touchy, aren't we? Very well, your dear Doctor Watson, then.-IA_

_Better? –IA_

_Considerably.-SH_

_And yes. You've heard correctly –SH_

_Now that is a pity. I had so hoped you'd come around. I was always so fond of you, Mr. Holmes. –IA_

_I thought I came around rather quickly after you used me to further international terrorism. Or was that not what you meant? –SH_

_John tells me I can be rather obtuse about such things –SH_

_Touché. –IA_

_Just as well, I suppose. You were never good for me, and you have an appalling lack of breasts. –IA_

_I have never prided myself on my feminine figure, no. –SH_

There was a brief lag in the conversation. He was a bit uneasy that she gave up so quickly, but then, he doubted she truly had. Still, as long as she stayed in remote bits of the Middle East and out of his hair, he didn't much care if she pined after him or not.

_I should also mention that if I so much as imagine I may have heard anything that even resembles you attempting to intervene in my affairs or do harm to my partner, I would be forced to resort to extremely unkind measures. –SH_

_Informing Mycroft of your location would be the gentlest of these measures, I assure you. -SH_

_Now, now. Temper, Sherlock. Temper. I'll leave you gentlemen to your domestic bliss. You're intriguing, but you're not worth the trouble of having to disappear all over again, my dear. –IA_

_I'm so glad we could reach an understanding –SH_

_Oh, that'll be Sihar coming with the tea. Must run, dear. Duty calls ;) –IA_

_'Duty'? Is that what you call it now? –SH_

_It's the only description fit for polite company, dear. Best wishes :* –IA_

_Goodbye Mr. Holmes. –IA_

"Tea?" Sherlock startled. He hadn't heard John come downstairs. The doctor stood in the kitchen, watching him. He didn't ask who he'd been talking to, and Sherlock had the uneasy feeling he probably already knew and had chosen to pretend otherwise. He was usually miles ahead of John Watson when it came to deduction, but every now and again, the man surprised him.

"Please." He put the phone away. "How's your sister?"

"Ugh, don't get me started."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's Note: These next two chapters will be a little less fluffy than the rest of the story so far. I intend to get back the lighter stuff, but this is something I've been wanting to address, so here you go. (Still relates to their relationship, don't worry.)**_

* * *

Donovan was even worse than expected when their cab pulled up to the police-tape. Apparently a serial killer had been busy, as they had been called to the scene of the third related murder in a week. As usual, Sgt. Donovan was standing at the edge of the scene, waiting for them. She had come up with a few more creative nicknames for Sherlock and had apparently dubbed John 'the freak's handler'.

She let them through with noticeable disdain, and he struggled to remember that punching a police-woman was illegal when he noticed her and Anderson muttering together and casting occasional pitying glances at their backs.

Lestrade caught his arm and pulled him aside as they passed the line of police cars, nodding Sherlock towards the corpse that lay sprawled and mangled beside a lamp-post several yards away.

Sherlock had looked annoyed and started to argue, but John cut him off with a quick head-shake. Whatever this was about, Lestrade didn't make a habit of wasting their time on cases. It was likely important and it wasn't as if they couldn't compare notes at home. The grumpy expression on his face indicated they'd be comparing notes at considerable volume, but Sherlock let the matter drop. He had crossed the pavement and was already stormily prodding at the body when Lestrade finally spoke.

"Look, Donovan told me about her… visit." John groaned. This was not something he wanted to talk about. "I can't really do much about it, since she was off duty at the time, but-"

"But she's a nosy bitch. If this is why you pulled me away from-"

"Look… John I get that you're pissed off. I would be too. But you have to understand, she's got a history with him… I'm not really at liberty to talk about it, but suffice to say she has her reasons for the way she acts. She's bitter, but she's not as awful as you think."

"So, what you think he's a psychopath now too?"

"No. You know I don't, or you two wouldn't be here."

"Then why do you let her get away with this? You _need_ Sherlock Holmes, but you let her abuse him each and every time we work on a case!"

"Because I need _her_ too. And Anderson. They may not be geniuses, but they do the best they can. Not everybody can stomach him, John. Hell, sometimes I can't either. They're good officers when you get down to it. They can be petty, sure, but they do the work because they want to help people." Lestrade sighed, watching an argument they (mercifully) couldn't hear between the three people in question as they stood over the recently deceased victim. "Sherlock's a good man, but he does it mainly for the challenge, and you know it. That rankles them."

John couldn't really deny that.

"But we do help people. _He_ helps people. He stops murderers on a weekly basis. He tracks down the worst of the worst. It's partly for the challenge, but… He's still human in there, Greg. He just doesn't always let on."

"He never let on at all before you moved in with him." Lestrade reminded him. "They see him as just another serial-killer in the making, and he doesn't do much to dissuade them."

Across the way, Sherlock was slicing off a small sliver of flesh from the corpse's ear and dropping it into a bag to study at home. Anderson was livid.

"They like you, y'know. Well, not Anderson so much, but Donovan does. She thinks you're here for the right reasons and she can't understand why you'd associate with someone she thinks is here for all the wrong ones…" John glanced back at him. "It's why she pesters you so much about him."

"And you think she's justified, calling him a freak all the time?"

"No. But I think she's justified to be scared of him." John stared at him, startled. "Like I said, it's not my place to talk about it, but there's more going on than just hurt pride."

"So why tell me this at all?"

"Because I doubt that's the last you'll hear about it. And I don't want either of you walking off a case because you can't stand each other. Just… try not to take it personally when she's at you, ok?"

"If you stop her calling him 'freak' or any of her other stupid little nicknames, I'll think about it."

Lestrade half smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

"-Are you going to monopolize my assistant all evening, Lestrade, or might I have him back to actually assist me?" Sherlock's annoyed baritone rang out from where he knelt over the corpse.

"Off you go, before he starts causing trouble. I'll see what I can do about the nicknames." Lestrade jerked his head in the detective's direction.

"Anything useful come of that?" Sherlock snapped under his breath as John dropped down beside him, ignoring the particularly acidic look Anderson was giving them.

"After a fashion."

"Oh?"

"I'll explain it later. What've you got?"


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock was in a foul mood and had been all evening. He stormed through the flat, picking things up and then tossing them aside. He seemed unable to focus, and most of all he seemed furious. Eventually, after Mrs. Hudson came up to complain and ask them to '_kindly keep your domestic to yourselves, and at this hour!'_ he flopped irritably onto the sofa and refused to speak at all.

"You going to tell me what's got you all out of sorts, or are you just going to sit there all night and fume?"

Sherlock cast him a filthy glare but stayed silent.

"Fine. You sit here and pout, if you want. I'm going to bed."

A hand shot out and snatched his wrist as he passed, pulling him back.

Sherlock's pale eyes still glittered with some unspoken rage, but he could see it wasn't directed at him. He sighed and sat down in the small empty space at the end of the sofa, left by Sherlock's bent knees.

"Alright. What?"

"What did Lestrade want?" The words were hissed out in petulant fury.

"Oh… that… um…" Suddenly, talking about this seemed like a bad idea. "He…"

"It was about Donovan, wasn't it?"

"Why do you even ask if you know what I'm going to say?"

"I like to confirm my hypothesis."

"Ah…"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Details."

"He said… that you've got history together. And it's bad, and that's about all he'd say. Told me not to take it personally when she's being a rancid witch"

"Mm…"

"So what's this history?"

Silence. Sherlock's face was buried in the back of the sofa, and he appeared to have no interest in removing it.

"Sherlock… he said she was justified to be scared of you… why should she be scared of you?"

A sigh and incoherent grumbling answered him. Eventually a muffled voice emerged from the cushions.

"I don't recall, but apparently there was an occasion when I mis-measured the morphine... I seem to have alternated between extremely aggressive and catatonic."

"You overdosed..." His mind helpfully combined the image of Sherlock convulsing on the floor after Irene Addler had drugged him with the many OD patients he'd treated. His stomach turned.

"I did…Once, yes. It seems I became rather violent when I regained consciousness."

"So, what, Donovan arrested you?"

A half-hearted bark of laughter erupted from the cushion that was still almost completely covering Sherlock's face. "Hardly."

John was beginning to wonder how the man could possibly breathe with almost his entire head being devoured by a sofa cushion. Now didn't really seem like the time to bring it up.

"Sally Donovan was infatuated with me at one time, shortly after I began working with Scotland Yard. She found out about my… problem… somehow, but kept it secret. I imagine I asked her to... but the details are blurry from that particular period. She is apparently the one who found me, when I had my… incident."

"You… attacked her?"

"Apparently, yes. I remember nothing after the dose took effect until several days later, but I've been informed of the details I missed…" His voice trailed off and was barely audible when he spoke again. "I'm told I had to be physically restrained for a good while."

John sat in silence, processing all of this. Sherlock was irrational and confrontational frequently, but he rarely actually hurt anyone who wasn't dangerous. It was a startling revelation in his view of the man.

"I'm not proud of what I did, John. It's why I stopped." Sherlock's voice was clear, but it was far from steady. Every word seemed to be pried forth with great effort. He sounded ragged and disheartened.

"I didn't think you would be." John hesitated a moment, then reached out to rest a hand on Sherlock's crooked leg. It was shaking. Gingerly, he stretched himself out, pressed tightly against Sherlock's slender back. He met no resistance when he slid his arms around the other man's waist. He could feel the detective's heart pounding. Clearly Sherlock was not as calm as he was trying to pretend…

"I've never liked Donovan, and I still don't, so I won't pretend otherwise... Still, I did attempt to apologize, after it was all over… though as you will notice, it's not an area where I excel. Naturally, it went poorly. She thought I was mocking her, and it's been as you see it ever since."

"Would it help if I talked to her?"

The dark curls shook side to side.

"No." There was an almost sad, wistful sound to the words. As if he very much wished it would.

"Sherlock, why didn't I hear about this before…?"

"I... I didn't want you to see that side of me. At first, I would have thought you'd be disgusted and leave, but I know you too well for that now. Now…" A short pause that felt hours longer than the few seconds it lasted, " Now, I just don't want you to see me the way they do. I don't think I could stand to see that look on your face too." The sheer, child-like fear in the man's voice dissolved any lingering doubts in John's mind.

"I wouldn't leave you. You're right about that... I won't claim it isn't jarring, hearing about all this…" He felt the body beside him tense, and tightened his arms around it unconsciously, "But… it's past. You're not that person anymore. I will never be afraid of you, Sherlock. _Never_. I trusted you before I knew you, I trust you more now." The shaking had grown more intense."Christ, Sherlock, you held a gun to my head when we were arrested at the flat, do you remember? And I didn't even bat an eye. I knew you wouldn't hurt me. I have never trusted another person that much in my life before or since."

Suddenly Sherlock Holmes was facing him, though how he'd managed to turn himself over without tipping the both of them off the sofa, John had no idea. Thin hands cradled the doctor's face as intense and glistening grey eyes searched it over. Apparently finding the answers he wanted, the hands released Watson's face and drew him closer, closing his arms around the doctor's back. John reached up to stroke Sherlock's dark hair, trying to make soothing sounds. He held him that way until the shaking and the badly-concealed tears had run their course.

Sherlock's loss of control - the knowledge of what he'd become in the blackout dark between the high and his return to reality - it frightened him in ways no criminal ever could. The knowledge of what he'd done, though there had never been any particular love lost between him and Sgt. Donovan, still haunted him. And the knowledge that there was no way now to make amends or undo it all… that would never quite go away.

Sherlock Holmes was not often vulnerable, but when he showed his scars, they ran deep.


	19. Chapter 19

"Boys? I'm off to the shops, do you need anything?" Mrs. Hudson's voice drifted up the stairs, followed by footsteps. "Boys, are you in?"

John sat up groggily and tumbled unceremoniously off of the sofa. He'd forgotten how close he was to the edge when he nodded off.

"Agh…Wha- who… what time is it?" He rubbed at his elbow where he'd collided with the coffee table and pawed for his phone, dragging it towards him. _Well past noon_. Sherlock was nowhere in sight.

"John, is that you? Are you alright dear, I thought I heard something crash."

"I'm fine, thanks. Just had a mishap with the sofa." He realized he was starting to sound just as odd and cryptic as Sherlock often did. Came of living together too long, he supposed. "I must've nodded off. I'm fine really."

"Alright…" She sounded dubious, but let it the matter go. "Do you boys need anything from the shops while I'm out?"

He shuffled to the door, adjusting his rumpled jumper, and opened it. It seemed strange and rude to just keep shouting through a closed door. She greeted him with a smile, but it faded slightly at the sight of him looking groggy and rumpled, still in yesterday's clothes.

"Thanks, but no on the shopping. I still have to see what's savable of the last lot I bought, and I'm a little scared to open the fridge just yet. I'll pick something up later on."

She glanced him up and down. "Are you boys still on the outs? I heard that row you had last night and then you sleeping on the sofa…"

"Oh, uh… no, no… we worked everything out; I just dozed off downstairs, that's all."

"John… you'd tell me if Sherlock wasn't treating you well, wouldn't you? My late husband… well he wasn't always a very nice man… and I know Sherlock's a dear, but he can be so temperamental…"

Sherlock had explained to him about the late Mr. Hudson once. 'Not very nice' was putting it in the kindest possible terms. The man had been a monster. How he'd ever found his way into sweet, kind Mrs. Hudson's good graces in the first place remained a mystery to John.

"Mrs. H, I promise you, it's nothing even remotely like that. We just stayed up talking things out, and I fell asleep where I was. That's really all there is to it." He smiled at her. She adored Sherlock like her only child, so he was a bit surprised to hear her even suggest that the detective could be anything like her late husband. Still… he supposed if you'd been through it yourself and thought you recognized the signs…"You don't need to worry about us."

She appraised him a moment more, then shook her head, apparently satisfied. "It's what I do, John! You boys do nothing but worry me!" She shook a finger at him in mock scolding. "I'll be an old woman before my time with the two of you around!"

"You? Never!" She grinned at that, and kissed his cheek affectionately, hinting that she might pick up a few extra packages of biscuits while she was out – coincidentally his favorite kind.

_Bloody saint, that woman._


	20. Chapter 20

_**Author's note: Here there be snogging. This does get a little heated (though not full-out dirty or graphic) so if you'd rather not read about Holmes/Watson make-outs, kindly click the next chapter button please. You won't miss anything you need to know for later chapters.**_

* * *

The adrenaline rush of the chase was still fading as the two men cut through a heavily wooded park, heading back towards the main road to catch a cab. The serial killer they'd been trailing all week had finally made the mistake they'd been waiting for. He'd forgotten to wipe away one stray fingerprint and that had been all that was needed.

They'd chased him halfway across London and straight into the waiting police barricade. The man had struggled, but he couldn't resist 20 armed officers, and had finally been brought down, cuffed, and dragged away. Scotland Yard was already long gone, but as usual, Sherlock refused outright to ride in a police car.

They were halfway through the park when, without warning, Sherlock suddenly cut down a side-path, pulling John along behind him. They were several twists and turns down the path when Sherlock halted abruptly, sending John crashing headlong into his back in the dark.

"What are you-" A hard kiss cut him off, pressing him back into the sycamore just behind him. Slender fingers ran over his jaw and cupped his face. He was breathing a bit faster by the time they pulled apart."Jeezus… Sherlock you couldn't wait until we got home?" He realized how half-hearted the complaint sounded, even in his own ears, but he also wasn't eager to get caught snogging in a park like a horny teenager.

"I waited through the case and the arrest." Sherlock was breathing softly against his neck, and he caught himself twining his fingers through the man's curly hair and stopped.

"Yeah, well, we have two perfectly good be_ds_" His breath hitched slightly as a slim hand traced the curve of his neck and across his shoulder. "For god's sake, Sherlock, we're in a public park!"

"In the middle of the night, in the most seldom-used portion of said park, yes."

"You sneaky-" his brain rebooted briefly as the hands strayed slightly lower, brushing across his collar-bone. "You came this way on purpose!"

The hands stilled and came to rest on his shoulders. "Do you genuinely want me to stop?" He sounded suddenly uncertain, afraid he'd crossed the line again without knowing it. It was a frequent occurrence, despite his best efforts.

"Here… yes. At home, _hell no_."

"…Alright." The hands released him, though he did receive one more pointedly chaste kiss. "Then let's hurry home, shall we?"

* * *

John barely had time the lock the door of the flat before Sherlock was dragging him towards his bedroom, coat and scarf dumped and forgotten over the arm of the sofa.

"Now where did we leave off?" the low baritone hum sounded pleasantly in his ear, and he let his jacket fall to the floor. The next thing he knew, they were pressed up against the wall, his jumper had vanished somewhere on the floor, and his hands were wound into Sherlock's hair. The slender hands slid underneath his t-shirt and his breath hitched again as they traced up his torso. "Ah yes, now I remember."

Distracted as he was, John managed to wrestle each and every button of Sherlock's shirt open and drag it off of him. They tumbled to the floor in a mass of limbs.

* * *

"Bloody Christ…" John let his head fall back against Sherlock's arm. "Are you sure you never… had a boyfriend before?" he asked for roughly the thousandth time since they'd met. Sherlock's smug satisfaction was palpable.

"I never even had friends before you, so yes, I'm quite sure." He placed a gentle kiss on the large puckered scar across John's shoulder, enjoying the predicted intake of breath and closed eyes. Even though the reaction was the same each time, he never got tired of it.

"You bugger - you know how sensitive that is!"

"Yes. Yes I do." He repeated the act, just to prove his point.

John muffled a groan, pushing him away."C'mon now, we've just finished that, I'm not really up for another go…"

"I could help you with that."

"I'll just bet you could, but I would like to get _some_ sleep tonight."

"I would argue there are much more interesting alternatives."

"You are not going to let me sleep, are you?" He resisted the urge to grin. _That'd only encourage him…. _John forcefully reminded himself that he was in fact trying _not_ to do that.

"Not if you're going to keep reacting so well, no."

A hand brushed ever so gently across his thigh and he arched involuntarily toward it.

"Gah… not fair, Sherlock!"

"You can sleep later."

Whatever argument he'd been prepared to make, died on his lips. John Watson forgot about sleep, about work… about anything that wasn't Sherlock Holmes, really. He'd worry about the lack of sleep in the morning. There were more important things to do for now.

* * *

_**Author's note: Before anyone asks - No, Sherlock is not just innately a really good lover – he IS a high-functioning sociopath. He's not innately good at anything that relationships involve. **_

_**He secretly did a lot of research about this and he's very observant. He recognizes the reactions he gets to certain things. As he told Irene Addler, the chemistry is simple and he understands the signs of arousal even if he's still a little foggy on the emotional side of these things. He's studied up on John's preferences and what gets the best reactions, and he just repeats the things that get those nice reactions. (Yes, he made room on his hard-drive for this information. It's important stuff.)**_

_**Also, being Sherlock Holmes and all, he's not usually very 'frisky' but he gets a little hopped up after a successful case, and sometimes he pounces Watson afterwards. **_

_**And now you know :D**_


	21. Chapter 21

**_Author's Note: We now return to your regularly scheduled fanfiction._**

* * *

"Cake?"

"What?"

"Cake, what kinds do you like?"

John glanced up expectantly from his laptop, notebook balanced on the other knee. Sherlock was engrossed in whatever he was doing to a jar of eyeballs on the kitchen counter.

"Does it matter?"

"You're expected to eat some, so yes, it does."

"Get whatever you like." Several drops of something acid-green went into the jar which fizzed brightly before turning a noxious yellow color. One eyeball exploded and splattered across the inside of the jar.

"… How about chocolate?"

"Dull." He glanced up, noticing the annoyed look he was getting. "-But it's fine."

"What kind do you want, Sherlock?"

"Whatever you want." He was absent-mindedly scribbling down notes about the exploded eyeball, bits of which were still sliding down the inside walls of the jar.

"Well clearly not chocolate."

"Does this _really_ matter? I'll eat it no matter what it is, because you want me to. Is that quite good enough?"

"I don't suppose I should bother asking you about icing?"

Sherlock stared at him, eyebrow raised. His expression strongly implied this was an extremely stupid question.

"Fine, I'll pick something." John looked away, then back at the jar, morbidly curious. "… Is that for a case?"

"Yes."

"Is… it supposed to explode like that?"

"Not generally. Interesting reaction, though."

"Uh… huh…" He decided that he didn't really need or want to know anymore about it and returned to his bakery research.

After a few moments of silence, Sherlock piped up with a spiteful grin.

"Actually, why not ask Mycroft? He'll be eating most of it anyway."

"Sherlock, really-"

John's phone chirped and Sherlock smirked.

_You'll never wrestle it out of him, but Sherlock enjoys lemon deserts –MH_

He took the phone out of a bewildered John's hands and laughed.

"And yet, just last week he denied bugging the flat... I thought certainly yesterday would've broken him of listening in where he's not wanted."

Another ping, this time from Sherlock's phone.

_Your sex life doesn't interest me, little brother. –MH_

John stood over his shoulder, reading the message.

"…How does he keep- ugh, forget it, I'm searching the flat."

"Check the bookshelf, he's fond of those. Light fixtures too."

* * *

"I found three in my room, two in the sofa, four in your room, and… five-" He stooped to unstick the tiny nodule of plastic from the underside of the table."-in the kitchen. I think that's the lot." John dropped a box of tiny microphones onto the counter.

"You missed one above the doorway and two on the mantle." Sherlock extended an open palm with three similar nodules and dropped them into the box, still busy with the eyeballs.

"So what do we do with them?" John turned one over in his hands, and then, feeling a little spiteful, tapped on it hard and breathed onto the receiver.

Sherlock watched him with amusement.

"I have a simpler solution, though yours does have its merits." He pushed a jar of clear liquid across the table towards him. "I don't imagine Mycroft's toys are quite sturdy enough to withstand a lovely hydrochloric acid soak, do you?"

* * *

John watched the tiny microphones dissolve into a slurry of melted plastic and metal at the bottom of the jar.

"So, lemon cake, then…"


	22. Chapter 22

"What do you think?"

Sherlock glanced up, prepared to rant about how little he cared what John wore for the 12th time in a week, but words failed him. He hadn't expected the man to look so _good_ in his dress uniform. Time had been kind to John Watson since he'd left military service…

"Um… is that... the good staring or the bad staring? I'm never sure…"

"Good." Sherlock's eyes immediately dropped back to the book he'd been reading, but it was obvious he wasn't paying attention to it anymore. He cleared his throat self-consciously. "I… think it's… good."

"Well, that's better than 'shut up about it, you can go naked for all I care'…" John grinned, clearly teasing him. Sherlock had begun resolutely ignoring him, though he was clearly not remotely focused on his book at this point. "-but if it makes you uncomfortable-"

"No. I don't- it doesn't. You should wear- it suits you." A faint pink tint stole over the detective's face as he caught himself stumbling over the words. He cleared his throat again and all but buried his face in the book.

John made a mental note to bring out his dress blues more often. It wasn't every day he could successfully fluster Sherlock Holmes, and it was rather endearing to see him blush.

"So that's an official yes?"

"Very much so."

"Good. I'll have them pressed for next week then. One less thing on my list."

* * *

_Do you think you can arrange something formal for Sherlock to wear that would coordinate with dress blues? –JW_

_Why ask me? I thought you two didn't want my interference. –MH_

_I know you buy his clothes, Mycroft–JW_

_Also, no I don't want you spying on the flat. It's creepy -JW_

_Do you now? –MH_

_And given your…enthusiastic… cleansing of my equipment, I haven't been able to in weeks. Happy?-MH_

_Yes. I do. I've never seen Sherlock Holmes walk into a store without traumatizing the sales clerks and he's too impatient to shop. He'd be wearing whatever he could reach first no matter what it was if he did his own shopping. Plus I've never once seen him clothes shopping, and he keeps turning up in new shirts. -JW_

_Quite – JW_

_Well well, my brother is rubbing off on you. Very well, yes, I'll arrange something. It will be delivered to your flat by the end of the week –MH_

_In fairness, you're only partially correct. I've simply given his measurements to Althea, and she purchases any necessary clothing for him, but impressively on the mark, nonetheless. -MH_

_Well played, John. Well played –MH_

_Can't spend all this time around you two cloak-and-dagger types without picking something up. -JW_

_Thank you –JW_

_Welcome to the family –MH_

_Never thought that would sound so ominous –JW_

_Don't worry, you're a good influence on my brother. If you weren't… well perhaps we'd have a different conversation. –MH_

… _-JW_

_You're still not very frightening. But thanks for arranging the clothes. –JW_

_I'm still not sure if that is because you're exceptionally brave or exceptionally foolish, but given you're preparing to marry Sherlock Holmes, of all people, I can only surmise it's both. You're quite welcome–MH_


	23. Chapter 23

Detective Inspector Lestrade, Molly Hooper, Harriet Watson, Gloria Cooper (Harry's date), Clara Smithson (Harry's ex), Mike Stamford, and Mrs. Hudson all sat awkwardly close together in the back of a large, sleek black car; an uncomfortable mass of pressed-slacks, best dresses, and patent-leather shoes. They were driving… they didn't know where. Mycroft Holmes had personally phoned each of them moments before the car pulled up to in front of their homes, politely informing them that they were to get in without a fuss, and wishing them a pleasant drive.

A condition of each of the very few invitations to the event had been secrecy - largely to deflect press attention. When John had early-on pointed out the possibility of a mob scene if they just strolled into a judge's office in broad-daylight, Sherlock had had a fit. He'd actually been concerned enough to corner his brother and spend several hours conferring with him. At the end of it, a location had been chosen and decoys had been arranged. It was all very much like a secret mission and John couldn't help thinking Sherlock probably preferred it that way, press or no. There'd be no escaping the attention later, but they would at least have one pleasant afternoon to enjoy before facing the inevitable storm of press that would arise when word eventually got out.

* * *

John had to admit himself impressed, taking a look around as he and Sherlock Holmes stepped out of the car Mycroft had arranged for the two of them. Sherlock had fairly quickly taken over all of the arrangements relating to the _where_ of the wedding, and he'd done exceptionally well at it. The Homeless Network had really outdone themselves - likely in gratitude to their biggest patron.

Not only was the normally filthy slum of the Arches scrubbed cleaner than it had probably been in at least a decade, but all of the garbage, graffiti, filthy sleeping bags, and dead rats were gone too. It almost looked elegant when it wasn't half-buried in filth… Here and there, discrete arrangements of ivy and tasteful flowers had been carefully tacked to the walls.

It was hard to imagine that the last time they'd been here, they'd been tracking a 7-foot tall assassin who'd later nearly choked the life out of them both. John hadn't been particularly sorry to hear that the Gollum had been taken out in Sherlock's year-long purge of Moriarty's criminal network several years ago. Not sorry in the slightest, actually.

He noticed several 50£ notes changing hands as the Network quietly melted back into the dim shadows of the Arches. He imagined they weren't going far, though. Sherlock caught his eye and smirked, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. The doctor couldn't help but grin back.

Sherlock looked calm and, for once, relaxed. John was struck by just how beautiful the man was in this moment… though he wouldn't trade the frenetic, childlike excitement that normally filled his partner for anything on this earth.

He noted with quiet approval that Mycroft's PA had done a fantastic job in choosing Sherlock's suit. The dark fabric was a deep earthy slate grey with just the faintest shimmer of cobalt blue lurking underneath when the sun caught it. It was complimented by a very well-fitted, crisp, black button-up. The ensemble brought even more attention Sherlock's already startling eyes and he looked almost otherworldly.

* * *

"You don't have _rings_?!" Mrs. Hudson hissed, looked thoroughly horrified.

Sherlock crossed his arms across his chest, grumbling petulantly about silly traditions. John swatted the back of his head, a '_behave yourself_' expression on his face. He was rewarded with an irritated glare.

"We thought it'd be a bad idea." John explained, ignoring Sherlock's huffy grumbling. "Could get caught on things at work or pick up… well, god knows what'd get stuck under any rings on _Sherlock's_ hand."

Mrs. Hudson paled at the thought, but she didn't look convinced.

"Well… yes… but… but…Oh, but it's not right, John! You boys having no tokens at all? It just seems so wrong not to do _something_…"

John glanced at the small assembly of onlookers gathered at the other end of the alley. They were supposed to be getting started in a few moments, but Mrs. Hudson had noticed the lack of wedding bands as she prepared to escort them to their places and she was adamant that it simply wasn't right to proceed without them. He tried to think of how to explain their alternative plan and leave out Sherlock's… less than conventional theory on the subject. Unfortunately, Sherlock wasn't one for patience.

"We've two very nearly perfectly -matched scars", Sherlock piped up, rolling up his sleeve to show the jagged pink line that ran up the side of his forearm. "Certainly that counts for something." He was still deeply annoyed at the fuss. John raised an eyebrow at him and he could see the detective mentally replaying the moment to himself. "… Not good?"

John glanced back at Mrs. Hudson, who did not appear remotely comforted by this information. "A bit not good, yeah."

He turned his attention back to their long-suffering land lady. "Look, we _are_ trading gifts, like … well semi-normal people anyway." He didn't think it would ever really be appropriate to describe Sherlock as 'normal' in any context. "Jewelry just really _really _doesn't work. It was meant to be a surprise. We're _not_ just showing off scars." he glanced pointedly as Sherlock who had the decency to look at least faintly abashed.

She pursed her lips, but nodded in resignation to this. Her face showed clearly that she thought they had an appalling lack of respect for important traditions, but just as clearly, that she wasn't all that surprised by it. John had to smile. After a few moments, she smiled back reluctantly, but it didn't take long for her to break into full-out beaming. She just couldn't stay annoyed at them… not today.

"Alright you two scoundrels," She declared, mock-scolding them with a maternal warmth, as she linked arms with both men, "Come on, you've a wedding to get on with!"

She gave Sherlock's arm a gentle squeeze and John couldn't miss the affectionate little smile that flitted across his partner's face at the gesture. He could always tell when Sherlock's smiles were genuine because that was the only time they really reached his eyes. It gave his whole countenance a happy, infectious glow that was hard to miss.

_Stop being so damned adorable_. He thought, grinning to himself, unable to contain the bright, glowing happiness that had been growing ever stronger in his own chest all day.

He glanced across at the two of them as she marched them forward and his smile spread even wider, thinking about this tiny microcosm of a family he'd somehow become part of. This was the way life was meant to be.


	24. Chapter 24

John suppressed the urge to snicker as Mycroft very solemnly stepped forward to meet them beneath one particularly extravagantly decorated arch. He'd known the man would be officiating, but the elder Holmes' manner was so stiff and pompous that between the nerves and the absurdity of Mycroft Holmes being in any way associated with a wedding, it was all John could do not to burst out laughing. Sherlock's knowing smirk was not helping matters. Mycroft cleared his throat with a faint hint of irritation, but said nothing.

Mrs. Hudson kissed both men on the cheek, untangling herself from them, and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. She was still teary-eyed as she rejoined the others, hands clasped joyfully in front of her.

John started slightly when Sherlock reached out and took his hand the moment Mrs. Hudson released them. It was a surprisingly tender gesture from the brilliant sociopath he'd fallen in love with. The same brilliant sociopath who was watching him intently now, the smirk morphing smoothly into a gentle, contented smile even as the brilliant grey eyes enveloped him. John flushed a bit at the attention.

He laced his calloused fingers through Sherlock's longer ones; earning him the quietly pleased half-smile he'd seen many times before when he'd done exceptionally well on a case, or brained a high-ranking police official for insulting Sherlock Holmes. He treasured that smile and it sent a little thrill through him anytime he received it.

Both of them broke out into self-conscious grins, making Mycroft roll his eyes. He was practically gagging on sentiment already, and his brother's wedding hadn't even really gotten underway yet.

* * *

The vows were mercifully short and to the point, and no one was all that surprised for it.

Sherlock had never been one for sentimental speeches, and John thought he'd die of shock if the man ever did wax poetic. They turned to face each other, hands still linked.

"I promise you that I will stay with you." The rich baritone voice was soft, intended primarily for John's ears, but as always, it carried easily, echoing softly against the stone walls of the alley. "I will talk to you. I will do my best to make you happy and I will care for you until the end of my days." Sherlock hadn't really rehearsed the speech. He hadn't needed to. It came straight from his brain to his mouth without filter and John found it perfect. Sherlock never made promises he didn't intend to keep. Not to John, anyway.

"I promise that I will stay with you." John Watson's eyes shone with an incredible sincerity that no one Sherlock had ever met could match, and the detective struggled to keep himself from reacting to it. That particular promise meant a lot to him. "I will care for you, force feed you when necessary, and I will always look after you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the mention of force feeding, but the half-smile was slowly growing despite his efforts to reign it in. "I will follow you and I will watch your back. And I will always believe in you, even if no one else does." John knew that last part to be especially important and he emphasized every word to show just how strongly he meant it.

Sherlock squeezed his hand, another rare gesture, and they both grinned stupidly at each other for the umpteenth time in ten minutes.

* * *

Mycroft refrained from comment, as both men stated their … unique… vows, but his face showed his discomfort with all this… _love_… business. He stuck to the rehearsed script he'd written for himself and tried not to pay too much attention to his brother's expression. It would send him over the edge if he let himself take it in, and he'd really start retching then.

Mycroft genuinely liked Dr. Watson, and he was beyond ecstatic at how good the man had been for his brother. He was quite pleased that his brother had found such an excellent match for his very odd and frequently trying character. In fact, they were _both_ really quite good for each other, in an odd and dysfunctional sort of way. He just couldn't stand being in the same room with them sometimes, when they started being all… sentimental… and… affectionate. It was awful and strange and messy and he knew for a fact they sometimes did it intentionally, just to drive him spare.

* * *

John glanced at him, and Mycroft nodded curtly. It was time for the exchange. Molly, beaming to have been included, approached them carrying two cloth-wrapped packages. She handed one to each of them before retreating nervously to stand beside Mrs. Hudson again, who watched them anxiously. John smiled at her, and she relaxed just slightly.

Sherlock unwrapped his bundle first, grimacing at the deer-stalker that emerged, though he accepted the hat with good humor. Underneath it was a small figurine of a pirate, complete with tiny parrot, all made of stainless steel. His name was engraved across the hat, right beneath a small skull and cross-bones. His lips quirked as he tried, and failed, to resist a smile. He was going to kill Mycroft for telling John about the pirate thing one of these days… but the token suited, he had to admit. He noted with a growing smirk that John had had the foresight to have it made in something quite durable so that he could carry it around with him without utterly destroying the thing. _Smart man, John Watson_.

John opened his bundle shortly after, unsurprised to find a perfect replica of Sherlock's trade-mark royal blue scarf. Folded up inside of it, as they'd agreed, was another smaller token: the small foldable lens that Sherlock always carried around with him on cases. It had long been a favorite tool of his and he'd kept it in excellent repair for as long as John had known him. For such a tiny thing, it bore a great deal of significance, and he found himself touched.

He barely noticed that Mrs. Hudson had burst into happy tears, apparently completely placated by their unusual selections. Sherlock was watching him with that bright, infectious smile again, apparently pleased with his reaction. The absurd hat was jammed on over his now unruly curls, and he looked ridiculous. John twirled the scarf around his neck with exaggerated flourish and they both collapsed into a giggling fit.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes.

"Alright, you two, you are officially wed. Would you please just kiss him and get it over with?"

He chose to ignore the sharp, indignant look Mrs. Hudson threw him. The other guests simply glanced uncomfortably at each other, not quite used to the… unusual… family dynamic between the brothers.

"With pleasure." Sherlock pulled his partner to him and clasped a hand behind the man's head, sweeping him into an extremely showy and dramatic dip with one fluid motion.

They held out the kiss for a solid two minutes, just to irritate Mycroft, though neither of them particularly minded lingering over it.

Everyone except Harriet was bright scarlet and staring awkwardly at anything but the pair of them when they resurfaced. Harry was, unsurprisingly, laughing and wolf-whistling at them.

John grinned. Mycroft simply threw up his hands and walked away.

"WOOH! GET A ROOM! GO JOHNNY-BOY!"

"Thanks, Harry…" …_I guess?_


	25. Chapter 25

_**Author's note: This is the end of our story, folks, I hope you enjoyed it. :D This chapter is mostly just snippets from the reception that I couldn't pass up. I think they're pretty fun, so please give them a read. I plan to write more stories after this, and I'm sure I'll be just as inspired by Season 3 as I was by 1 and 2, so stay tuned :)**_

* * *

"I'll have that flask, if you don't mind." A very low baritone voice sounded quietly in her ear.

Harry jumped, hand reflexively going to the small rectangle hidden beneath her jacket.

"Wha- what?"

She hadn't even realized Sherlock Holmes was in the same room, let alone standing right behind her. She stopped herself before she actually touched it, but Sherlock needed no further information.

"I _said_, I'll have the flask please. I doubt John would appreciate your bringing it at all, much less indulging, don't you agree?"

Cool grey eyes bored into her, promising all manner of dire fates if she didn't comply. _If you ruin this day for him, I will end you_.

She handed it over, intimidation overcoming her irritation for the moment.

"And Ms. Cooper's."

Harry's date, Gloria, stared at him open mouthed, but his reputation preceded him. She knew who Sherlock Holmes was, so she didn't bother trying to protest or argue. She pulled the tiny vessel out from under her criminally short skirt and handed it over in silence, eyes very carefully averted.

"_Both_ of them, Ms. Cooper." Another bottle joined the first. "Thank you. Do enjoy yourselves." _Translation: Behave yourselves or I will find you._

He pocketed all three flasks, shielding the exchange from curious eyes with his back. He hadn't the slightest intention of ever returning them, and actually intended to bin them as soon as possible. He rejoined John, who was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"Chatting with my sister?"

"Oh yes, we had a lovely conversation. She's quite happy for you."

"Ah…" John wasn't sure he completely believed this, but decided not to press the matter. "Thank you." He murmured, leaning into his partner's shoulder under pretense of a playful hug.

Sherlock just smiled at him and didn't say a word.

* * *

"You're not serious…" John eyed the extended hand dubiously.

"Oh come now, surely you remember the lessons." Sherlock answered dismissively.

"That was 3 years ago, for a case, and I was bloody awful at it!" John had never been an adept dancer, and he wasn't eager to flail across the dance-floor in front essentially everyone he knew.

"Yes, which is why I will be leading. All you have to do is trust me." John glared at him, but he couldn't very well refuse after a statement like that. He took Sherlock's offered hand and stood up.

"That's bloody cheating and you know it." He grumbled under his breath as the music began.

"Hardly. Simply motivation."

As irritated as he was, John had to admit: Sherlock was right. The man had apparently continued to practice or had simply permanently absorbed the steps, because he seemed to have no trouble dragging his partner through several nimble steps. It was actually rather fun, once he stopped worrying about it.

* * *

John had to laugh at the look on Sherlock's face when the man dug into a slice of the elegant lemon-curd cake with rare gusto. Mycroft hadn't been kidding about the lemon deserts thing.

* * *

"Ms. Hooper?" Gregory Lestrade felt unusually awkward asking for something as simple as a dance, but he'd fancied Molly from a distance for quite some time now, and he was officially a single man again. He'd finally out and out divorced his now ex-wife after catching her in bed with yet another boyfriend a year or so ago. Now seemed as good a time as any to test the waters...

Molly glanced up from her conversation with Clara Smithson - Harry's ex - grinning nervously with a faint flush coloring her cheeks. She'd never been good at interacting with men she liked, and now was no exception.

"Oh… uh… Molly!" She blushed harder, "Uh… please call me Molly." She found herself admiring the slightly crooked way he smiled at her, and tried not to become any more flustered than she already was. She didn't succeed.

"Right… Molly. Would you like to dance? I'm not as good as twinkle-toes Holmes over there" He jerked his head towards Sherlock who gave him a mildly annoyed look at the nickname, but otherwise ignored them, "but I'm not too bad."

She knew her face was completely crimson, but she stood up offering her arm to him anyway. She'd been trying to force herself to take more chances lately, and this exact scenario had been something of a fantasy of hers ever since she'd helped John choose the venue for the wedding reception. There was absolutely no way she wasn't going to at least try to see this through.

* * *

"Would you look at that?" John murmured, nudging Sherlock discreetly and flicking his eyes towards the dance-floor. "Who would've thought those two, eh?"

"Oh please, they've been _googely eyeing_ each other for months." Sherlock flapped his hand dismissively in the direction of the dancing pair. He didn't even look up from his second helping of cake. "It was so pitifully obvious I was going to drag him over there myself if he didn't get on with it."

"You would not!"

"I certainly would. It was becoming quite ridiculous."

"You- never mind." He snagged himself a second slice as well and dug in. He wasn't sure Sherlock even noticed the enormous irony of the situation and it just wasn't worth arguing about it.

* * *

Sherlock was not particularly surprised to notice Lestrade and Molly deep in conversation at a table to themselves as the afternoon wore on. He expected they'd be making their own 'happy announcement', as Mycroft had so blithely phrased it, within the year.

He studied Molly's posture and Lestrade's flirtatious body-language again, reconsidering. _Three months._ He corrected himself.

* * *

John was sound asleep against his shoulder as they made the long drive back to Baker Street. There would be no honey-moon and there wasn't need for the usual 'wedding night' silliness. They'd simply have a cup of tea and go to bed, the way they often did, and that would be the perfect end to the evening. Sherlock allowed himself a quiet sigh of contentment, settling one long arm around John's shoulders, and bracing the man's lolling head against his chest. He couldn't remember ever being happier, and for once, the sentiment didn't bother him at all.

He studied the face of the slightly older man, smoothed by sleep. He found he never did get tired of exploring it. And he doubted he ever would.

He returned his gaze to the world slowly passing outside the window and smiled.

* * *

John woke up from the third light doze he'd fallen into since they'd gotten home, finding Sherlock standing over him with a fresh cup of tea, done just the way he liked it. He noticed the charming grey suit had been exchanged for Sherlock's standard loose-fitting pajamas and accepted the cup with a smile. He knew he wouldn't get to the bottom of the mug before he nodded off again, but the comfort of the ritual was still nice. After a few sips, he set it down on the table in front of him and pulled Sherlock towards him. He wanted one more kiss before he let the day slip away from him, and Sherlock did not disappoint him.

* * *

Sherlock watched his partner dreaming contentedly, though he was far from tired himself. He supposed John was technically now his _husband_ though the word still felt strange and insufficient. He decided not to use it, as it just didn't quite fit.

John had once again fallen fast asleep, for probably the fifth time in the last two hours, though he'd managed to get out of his uniform and into something a bit more comfortable before tumbling into bed. Sherlock had patiently rearranged the sprawled limbs into a configuration that he could fit alongside and crawled in after him.

On a whim, he rolled onto his side, pulling John's back tightly against his chest and buried his face in the man's short-cropped hair.

_Perfect_ was the only word his mind would supply.

He closed his eyes, though he did not intend to sleep, and savored this. He knew there would be chaos, danger, arguments, and trouble in their future. It was inevitable given who they were and what they did. But he would always have this perfect moment locked away inside his head, ready to be put on like a comfortable sweater. And it would always be enough.

* * *

_**Thank you all for your very kind comments! I hope you've enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope to post more in the future, so keep an eye out :)**_

_**I've been combing through every now and again and fixing things I've missed on my own, but **__**if you find any additional typos or errors I've made, please tell me so I can fix them :) **_  



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